


Through the Eyes of a God

by LateStarter58



Category: Marvel (Movies), Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Older Woman/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LateStarter58/pseuds/LateStarter58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A widowed novelist gets some help from a very unexpected quarter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Eyes of a God

There it was again. That distinct feeling of being… observed. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled.  
It had started in Paris. I nearly didn’t go because I was in so much pain, but the others were coming from London, everything was booked, and Dan was desperate for the new contract to be signed. So I gritted my teeth and went anyway. Driving to the TGV station was agony (why didn’t I buy an automatic?) but the first class seat was comfortable, and I opted for a taxi to the hotel rather than the route-march to the Metro at Montparnasse. But as soon as I had alighted from the train I had felt… What was it really? It is hard to describe it, but I suppose you could call it ‘under scrutiny’.   
For a middle-aged, slightly overweight woman that was an unfamiliar sensation. Most of the time I am pretty invisible, unless I am a customer, and sometimes even then. People stare of course, but in France that’s par for the course. I just stare back now; it doesn’t bother me anymore. I had glanced around me but I couldn’t identify a source for my unease, so I dismissed it as a side effect from the strong medication I had taken for my back. Once or twice I thought I saw a flash of green, just on the periphery of my vision, but I put that down to the run of migraines I had been having.  
I had travelled to the capital to meet with my publishers. It was only a brief visit; in just over 24 hours I would be back on the train heading west, towards my home. My agent Danny was coming to handle the financial side. That is his job after all, and he knows what the going rates are. I am pretty useless when it comes to money and I still find it hard sometimes to believe anybody would pay me to write, or that people would buy my books. It had been a dream for such a long time, a fantasy, not one I thought would ever come true.   
I had moved to France once I realised I could and should write full-time, mainly because it was cheaper and quieter than the south-east of England. I could survive better on the money I was earning and there was peace and quiet to work in. My family were grown-up and there was nothing really keeping me over there. I had settled in well and written two books in three years, with the second one just published and already selling well. Now I was negotiating for and getting a contract for three more, with pretty much carte blanche as to the subject, even the genre. I had warned Julia and Ben that I was considering a change of direction.  
The world had been irrevocably altered by the events in New York two years ago. The havoc wreaked in Greenwich last year just confirmed to me that novels about family life, marriage, love and death among the English middle-classes in the 70s, 80s and 90s were rather irrelevant now. I had started reading up about Norse mythology: apparently these ‘gods’ were real, and I was curious. How many more ‘myths’ were actually race-memories of aliens? It wasn’t a new idea, but now we knew there was truth behind it. And this Loki, the instigator of the New York thing, he was fascinating. If the mythology was at all accurate, he was by far the most alluring god of them all; a trickster, intelligent, sexually rapacious… I was intrigued. I wanted to explore what all this meant, for us, for ordinary humans.  
As the train sped westwards, carrying me home, I noted that the car in Première Classe was mostly empty. It was mid-afternoon, with the few passengers who were there consisting of the usual mix of ladies-who-lunch and business travellers. I had a phone call from Danny, who was on the Eurostar heading north. He was very happy with how negotiations had gone. I was finding it hard to concentrate on what he was saying however, because that feeling was back. And the sensation was much, much stronger this time. But still nobody was looking at me, not that I could see, anyway.   
But then, about an hour into the journey I looked up from my book and notes (on Norse myth, of course) to see that there was someone actually looking at me. The man had definitely not been there earlier, I was certain of that. I’d have noticed, because he was so striking. Long dark hair swept back off a pale face, immaculately dressed, he was sitting at the end of the car by the door, right in my eye-line. He looked younger than the other male passengers and his eyes were on me. Not exactly staring, but whenever I risked a glance in his direction, there was that look, and a slight smile. I needed to use the toilet, which meant passing right by him. Steeling myself I struggled out of the seat and, using the walking stick I needed when things got really bad, I made my way along the aisle of the train. Happily, TGVs are very smooth, because it was bad enough looking disabled without falling over in front of him. My back had stiffened up and the pain was quite bad, but nevertheless I could not take my eyes off the man. As I passed him he smiled and nodded. My breath caught in my throat; he was utterly beautiful. The silken hair framed a face which would not have been out of place in a Tolkien novel.   
‘Monsieur,’ I murmured.  
‘Madame.’ The deep dark voice resonated inside me. I felt a thrill of something I had thought was gone forever.   
When I returned to the car he was gone. Where could he have got to on a moving train? I felt very disappointed, but I was almost home and real life was calling. Daydreams about beautiful young men would have to be reserved for another time.

 

My bedroom was stiflingly hot, having been shut up for two sweltering July days. I opened the windows as soon as I got home, and put the fan on as well. If I was going to survive the inevitable hot flushes that would hit me during the night I needed all the help I could get. Let me tell you, the menopause is not for softies. It robs you of so much: sleep, comfort, confidence… and in my case, libido. I tried the hormone treatment, but it only helped a little and I had to stop taking it because of the risks. So I was back on the rollercoaster ride of sweats and chills, with summer nights making it impossible to cool down quickly. Add in my recurring back injury, which made turning in bed a dangerous business and there you have it: my wonderful life.   
I had been living with the back problem for 30 years. It went away, for years sometimes, but pregnancy brought it back, and it liked to kick me when I was down. The accidental death of my husband was followed by six months of physical agony to rival the emotional kind. I wasn’t on the motorbike with him, thank goodness, or our daughters might have been left on their own as teenagers. Things like that make you re-evaluate your life. I struggled on with my office job, keeping the roof over our heads and making ends meet, but university fees cut a big hole in the money I had saved from his life insurance pay-out. I had always wanted to write and to distract myself I entered a short story competition run by a women’s magazine. To my lasting astonishment I won, and the prize was a one-book contract with a publisher. Three novels later here I was. The best investment I had made in that time, excluding my house in France, was a really good office chair. It saved me from day-to-day pain, but this bad back of mine comes when it chooses. Just the slightest wrong move…  
By the time I went up to sleep the room was a bit more bearable, but still pretty hot, so I elected to leave the fan running. It had been a tiring couple of days and I had taken the maximum dose of my pain-killers so I was soon dropping off, despite the temperature. But not before my mind drifted back to the Adonis on the train. There was something very unusual about him; young men didn’t normally look at me at all these days, and that voice… There were definite stirrings.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The first thing I noticed when I woke was the silence. The fan had stopped running.  
Shit. A power-cut or the motor has died. Either way, shit!  
The second thing I realised was that there was no noise at all, of any kind. No frogs croaking, no crickets thrumming, not a solitary dog barking. That was weird.  
The third thing which made its way into my hot flush-addled brain was that the air in the room was very cold. I mean freezing, unnaturally so for July. It was welcome, although it made all the capillaries in my skin contract painfully, like a million pin-pricks all over. The sweat that had covered me in a fine sheen evaporated instantly, my head cleared and I felt much better.  
Then the fourth and final realisation hit me like a ton of bricks: I was not alone in the room.  
A hundred thoughts chased each other through my mind at break-neck speed. How had he got in through the locked doors and the metal shutters? Why hadn’t my dogs barked at the noise he had to have made? What does he want? Who is it? I am lying here naked with no covers on me, my legs open to allow the air to cool my fevered parts. Am I going to be raped?   
There was a chuckle, and a soft, low, familiar voice said ‘Oh it won’t be rape, I can assure you of that.’  
Somehow, in the moonless dark, and without the glasses I usually need just to find my own feet, I could see him. The man from the train. Only now he wasn’t wearing a bespoke business suit. He was dressed in leather, dark green and gold, and my bedroom was filled suddenly with the smell of herbs and pine sap as if I had been transported to a northern forest. And I knew. He was Loki, the alien, the Norse god who tried to take over the world.   
What on earth could Loki want with me?  
He was sitting beside me on the bed, and above the forest perfume I could detect the intoxicating fragrance of the leather and something else from him, something indefinable. It smelt… dangerous.  
‘Don’t do that. I like you as you are.’  
I had been reaching for the sheet to cover myself. I doubted he meant it, not my aging body. He shook his head, as if he had read my thoughts.   
‘You are wrong. I am not concerned with outward appearances. I know how deceptive they can be.’  
Every time he spoke I felt myself getting more aroused. I should have been terrified, but instead I was increasingly attracted. I did feel unable to move, however. Not that I wanted to. He leaned down and kissed me softly on the mouth. He tasted of sweet wine and green things. His hand drifted over my breasts, touching, caressing. This had to be a dream.  
‘It is not. ‘ He paused. ‘I was imprisoned for a while, after, you know…’   
I nodded. We had been told that after the trouble in New York Thor had taken him back to their home to be punished. We never saw him properly. A few blurry shots from the CCTV in Stuttgart or New York appeared in the papers but none of them did him justice.  
‘I am here because I read a great deal while I was in my cell, books from Midgard, Earth you call it. Including yours.’  
I was stunned. An alien ‘god’? Reading my silly domestic dramas? Out of all the great sweep of human literature he had fixed on my novels?  
‘I learned much from you about family life, and how humans relate to one another. When I was freed I sought you out.’  
He was now sitting on the bottom of the bed, although I had not seen or felt him move, and his hand was caressing my left foot. The sensations were shooting up my leg and I became aware of a wetness pooling, something I had not felt that since my husband died. I was surprised and very pleased. Even if it was only a dream, it was welcome. Suddenly he lifted the whole leg up and I felt his breath cooling that wetness. There was the sound of leather clothing creaking as he knelt on the bed.  
‘As I observed you, I saw that you were interested in me. And that you were in need of some things I could give you.’  
My back. It wasn’t hurting. My leg rising up like that should have been agony, even passively, but there was no pain at all. It was resting on his shoulder, which I noted was now naked. As was the rest of him. This had to be a dream, surely…  
‘I can take away your pain, and I can give you pleasure. As much as you can bear, my dear. Maybe more.’  
He smiled, and a shiver of fear went through me. There was something in that smile which spoke of a psyche so damaged it was terrifying. But the eyes… they sparkled with intelligence and mischief. There was no cruelty there, despite what I had heard and read about him. He was a deceiver, a manipulator. He was probably lying to me, but I didn’t sense that. Perhaps his time in prison had changed him. Perhaps…  
His cool breath felt stronger against me and then he ran his tongue up my sex, up to my clit which he swirled around. I writhed in response to a pleasure I had not felt in years. I decided to accept what he was giving me. After all, I was hardly in a position to argue, and it was thrilling. Again I thought that if it was a dream, it was a very vivid and enjoyable one.  
He grunted with irritation against my slit; it felt wonderful. ‘I have told you this is NOT a dream.’  
He continued to pleasure me with his mouth, and I can tell you that he is well-named ‘Silvertongue.’ Then he stood up and I was able to see his body properly for the first time, despite it being very dark and my glasses still lying on the bedside table. He seemed to glow with a faint green light which was enveloping us both. He was pale as ivory, lean but defined, with his abdominals marked but not excessively so. As he crawled up the bed towards me I watched the muscles in his torso ripple: I had no choice, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. But I was unprepared for what I saw next; fully erect, thickly veined. It was huge; truly the phallus of a god. A surge of lust ran through me.  
That unsettling smile was back on his face, as he moved towards my lips and kissed me, firmly, deeply. It seemed it was, as he had insisted, not a dream, because I could taste my own arousal on him. He bit my bottom lip gently, almost tenderly and as he did so two of his long fingers slipped inside me. I felt my eyes roll back in my head, and everything went rather grey; I was losing consciousness. His hand grabbed the back of my hair and I came round to find myself looking directly into those bright, vibrant green eyes.   
‘Oh no you don’t! Not yet…’  
‘Sorry,’ I spluttered, ‘This feels so good, and I am a little out of practice. ’  
‘I am well aware of that, my dear. I intend to have you up to speed in no time.’  
His fingers began to move and I felt my first orgasm in – what was it? – years building up. But I wanted that magnificent cock inside me.   
‘All in good time. I want you to come first.’  
So I did, moaning and screaming into his mouth. He was laughing at the same time, and his fingers never stilled, working inside me and against my clit until I begged him to relent so I could breathe.  
I was dimly aware that I had turned over – still without pain – and I found myself on my hands and knees. Loki was behind me and the head of his massive cock was against my entrance.   
‘Fuck me, Loki, please,’ I murmured and suddenly he was fully sheathed inside me. I screamed his name, and several other things. My mind was in turmoil; I had gone from nought to 100 miles an hour in minutes. No sex, not even any desire for it had been a fact of my life for some time and now here I was, being fucked senseless and loving it. By a god. How? Why?  
‘Do not question it, my dear, just accept it.’   
Loki was thrusting powerfully and I felt another orgasm coming, My legs were like jelly, and my arms could no longer hold me; I pressed my face into the pillow and groaned with lust at every surge of him into me. He had promised me as much pleasure as I could bear, and he was delivering. I came, grunting into the pillow and writhing in ecstasy. It was the best ever, and I had a feeling that there was more to come.  
‘Oh yes. Plenty more.’  
His velvety voice was soft in my ear and a shudder ran through me at the thought. Could I take it? Years of sitting at a desk for too long and a natural laziness had taken its toll. I was disastrously unfit. I was already quaking in every limb. Loki gently turned me on my back as I was still recovering from the high he had brought me to, and kissed my neck, collarbones and breasts. He ran his hands over my stomach, ravaged by pregnancy and self-neglect.  
‘The woman inside is what attracted me. You were intrigued by me, and I by you.’  
I could still see him clearly. He was so beautiful it made me want to cry, his body was so perfect I felt the lust building again, and he was still rock hard. How could I satisfy him?  
‘I am not readily satisfied, it is true, but you will make me come. Are you ready for more?’  
I nodded, momentarily rendered speechless by what he had said. He knelt between my legs, hoisted me up onto his lap with his powerful arms and lowered me down onto his cock. I gasped again; I would never get used to the sheer size of it. Despite everything, I felt energised and as he leaned me back onto the bed I tightened my legs around his waist. He began to thrust again and it was better than ever, as if I was relearning how to enjoy myself. Perhaps I was.  
His strong arms were holding mine above my head while he pounded into me. He was biting and licking my neck and shoulders. I could do nothing but cling on with my legs and enjoy the ride. And the view. His lovely face was contorted with pleasure and he bared his teeth, groaning and occasionally growling. Yet another orgasm shook through me, my limbs tingled and I shouted his name.  
‘Loki!’  
‘Yes, that’s right, say my name. Whenever you come from now on, say my name.’  
Of course I would. Who else would I be thinking of?  
His pace quickened even more and then he was spilling inside me, grunting as his thrusts became more erratic. I felt a surge of pride. I might be old, fat and ugly, but he still came inside me.  
‘You are none of those things. Do not believe that any longer.’  
I looked at him again. He was breathing heavily still, but not sweating as I was. The room was still cool, but I was warm and comfortable. He was smiling, and the smile had lost the madness that alarmed me earlier. It suffused his face with a greater beauty than ever. Satisfaction might not come naturally to him, but his face told a different story; he had obviously achieved his goal for tonight. He lay down next to me, his arms enveloping my body. This tenderness was not what I might have expected from the maniac who tried to conquer the planet with an alien army.   
I snuggled against him, tiredness finally overcoming me. Perhaps he was allowing it to now; it seemed he was capable of controlling most things. I felt myself falling asleep against his firm chest. Just before I dropped off, he spoke softly.  
‘Now you have some material for your next novel.’  
‘I doubt anyone would believe this story. I hardly do myself.’  
‘In that case, I had better try harder to convince you next time’


End file.
